Limbo
by aphelant
Summary: My idea of what *really* happens to Spike after 'Chosen'. I'm taking liberties with some of the Slayer mythology, but hey, if Joss is gonna leave it all open-ended and generally unwritten, I'm allowed to toy. Hehe.
1. One is the Loneliest Number

It was dark. He wasn't sure how long it had been that way, but knew it hadn't always been. He could remember light, and warmth. Not everything was bleak. And lonely.

He tried to blink. Couldn't tell if he had, 'cause his view never changed. Black is black. Tried to move, but there was nothing to touch, nothing to reference from. Couldn't really feel, granted, so moving was a little pointless. Nowhere to go anyway.

No sound. No smell. There was nothing here. He existed in nothing. But if there was nowhere to exist, could he really be existing?

****

__

Ping.

Ping? Was that a ping? He tried to turn to the sound, but couldn't move. Besides, it was so echoey in the vast dark that he couldn't tell where it came from.

There it goes again, louder now. Definitely a sound, not something he imagined he could hear to pass the time.

Not like those voices. The never ending cacophony that he knew, yet couldn't place.

__

Don't worry. Everything's switching. Outside to inside.

I'm in a band.   
What kind of band?   
A rock band.

You'll do what, lick me to death?

She's a god. Let's think *outside* the box.

Til the end of the world. Even if that happens to be tonight.

I could never trust you enough to love you.

I believe in you.

I spy with my little eye something that starts with 'T'.

I love you.

They don't make sense. Nothing makes sense. But the sound, it's real. Now there's light. A pinprick in the dark. He frowns. Or he tries to.

It gets bigger, and warmer, and suddenly he realizes that he's _feeling_ the heat. He can _feel_ the sun poking through the gaping hole. Larger, larger still. He reaches for it, or he thinks he does, because a breeze touches him.

He can see his hand - white, thin. It moves out of the dark and into the light. The light pulls him, tugs him through the hole.

'Damn, I don't remember grass being this itchy.'

****

When he opened his eyes, truly opened his eyes, it was dark again. Not the all-encompassing, suffocating dark of before, but the kind of dark that still has light to it. The dark of a room, the dark where the edges are black but the middle is grey.

He sat up. Looked around. Bed? No, too scratchy. Couch. He swung his legs around, put his feet tentatively on the floor. Cool, textured. Wood. He sniffed the air, caught a whiff of chicken broth and fresh-baked bread. Dying fire. Woman.

She came into the room. Looked surprised to find him awake. She walked towards him.

"Hello, William."

He frowned momentarily, then his confusion cleared.

"'S not my name," he replied. Gave a small smile. "They call me Spike."

"Who does?" she asked. He frowned again.

"Them. The ones I remember. The ones from before."

She turned from him. Walked out of the room. He followed.

****

"Cynthia."

"What?"

"My name."

She put a plate of food in front of him. The food he'd smelt before. He stared at it, then at her.

"Where am I?"

She laughed, a true laugh. Like it was the funniest thing she'd heard.

"Well, I suppose that's the question of the century."

****

He rolled over in his sleep. Reached out for the woman who wasn't there.

****

"Don't take it personally," she said over breakfast. He glanced at her before choosing to ignore her altogether.

"It's just that I don't get many visitors. Haven't for years. I'm sorry if I'm rude. Or obnoxious. Or -"

"Actually, I find you quite irritating. You don't know where we are, or why I'm here, or where I was _before_ I was here. You won't tell me how I know you. Or even _if_ I know you. So what good is it to talk to you?"

"None."

He glared at her over his oatmeal. She stared out the window.

"You should go for a walk," she said. "It's a beautiful day."

****

A few hours later, he stormed into the cottage. She looked up from her quilting and regarded him quizzically.

"I think you know more than you're letting on!" he yelled. She raised her eyebrows, but remained silent. "There are graves out there. In the forest. Thousands of them."

He looks like he's going to be sick. She puts aside her needle and thread and folds her hands demurely in her lap.

"They're children, aren't they?" he whispers. She tilts her head slightly, but still does not answer him.

"God damn it, Cynthia! Those graves are marked dates only three or four years apart, sometimes only months. What the fuck is going on?!"

"Did you read them?"

"What?"

"Did.you.read.them."

His lips press together and he turns an interesting shade of red. "There were a few hundred too many for me to read them all."

"I suggest starting with the most recent ones."

She picks up her work and continues it like the interruption never occurred. He stands there, waiting for her to continue. Realizing she won't say another word to him, he slams out the door.

****

All of them are the same dull grey, the same slab of stone with names and dates carved into them. The same memoriam for some three thousand girls.

All girls, all dead. Except one.

He stands before the empty grave. It isn't freshly dug - he can tell because the dirt is packed and there is moss growing on the headstone.

But she should be dead. The inscription reads: December 1996 - May 1997. That was six years ago. Six long years ago.

"Buffy," he whispers, as he traces her name with the tips of his fingers. "Buffy."

He looks to his left, down a long line of graves. He's read them all, all their names, all their lives, on these cold stones. That's where he found Cynthia.

She died when this girl was born. Or the other way around. Something in the back of his mind was nagging at him. He was supposed to know this. Supposed to know the significance here.

To his right lay only one grave. Kendra, May 1997 - May 1998. But why did she die, and this girl live? This Buffy?

"It wasn't supposed to be this way," came a voice from behind him.

Spike turned, and saw Cynthia approaching through the trees. She walked gracefully, with a confidence he recognized. Cynthia looked up at the canopy and smiled into the sunlight.

"There was a time when I thought I would never see the sun again," she said. He looked up as well, as if noticing for the first time that it was day. "I suppose," she continued, "that you could say the same."

"I don't understand," he mumbled, eyes returning to the name on the stone before him. Buffy.

"You will, in time."

She held her hand out to him. He regarded it warily, and used the headstone to pull himself up. Buffy.

Cynthia turned and began moving away from the graves, away from what should have been her final resting place.

Spike followed her out of the make-shift cemetery. He only looked back once.

Buffy.

****

_To be continued..._


	2. Two can be as Bad as One

***A/N: Whooeee! I just love getting reviews only hours after I've posted a story! Thanks for the feedback guys. I *heart* you! Anyway, I think this chapter will clear up some of your questions. And, you know, entertains you. - Chelle - ****

"I knew her, I think."

Cynthia looked up from their game of rummy. Spike had a faraway look in his eyes, like he was trying to recall something buried so deep in the past he had to step out of time to find it.

As she waited for him to continue, she shuffled her cards around, fanning them, un-fanning them, turning them over. But she was patient.

"I think maybe…we were friends? Her name is so…familiar to me, I must have known her before."

"When was 'before', William?" she asked. He focused his confused gaze on her a moment before replying.

"Before I was here," he said, as if it was the most obvious answer. Cynthia put her cards on the table and leaned back in her chair.

"You need to remember," she coaxed. "You're not supposed to be here. There must be a reason you are."

He frowned, concentrating. He tried to call up the voices he used to hear, but they seemed to have faded. Spike focused on Buffy's name and tried to conjure an image of her, something for him to grasp. But he couldn't.

"I - I can't remember!" he spat. He jumped out of his seat and began pacing back and forth, like a caged animal. "I don't remember a thing. I only have these…feelings! Like, I know this Buffy girl meant something to me. I _knew_ her. But I can't.remember.her."

"What about yourself," Cynthia pushed, "do you remember who you are? Anything? Like, what you like to do, what's your favourite colour, that sort of thing?"

He plopped himself down on the couch and leaned forward, propping his elbows on his knees and pressing his eyes with the heels of his hands. "I didn't fit in. I always felt like an outsider. I was - was ridiculed, a lot. I remember fear, and anger, embarrassment, loathing…and…an intense desire for…something."

Cynthia rose then, and sat stiffly on the couch beside him. He could feel her eyes boring into his back, but he made no move to acknowledge her presence. So she gripped his shoulder firmly and forced him to turn to her.

"I'm going to say some words to you, and I want you to say the first thing that comes to your mind."

"I don't want a psychological evaluation, thank you very much!"

"Just - just do it, okay?"

Spike could see the curiosity and anticipation behind her eyes, so he decided to humour her.

"Fine, okay. Let's get this bloody show on the road."

Cynthia made herself more comfortable, and riveted her attention on him. She was silent for a moment before beginning the test.

"Night."   
"Dark."

"Moon."   
"Sun."

"Demon."   
He frowns. "God."

"Witch."   
"…Tree."

"Tree? Any specific tree?"   
He frowns even harder now. "A, uh, a willow tree."

Now Cynthia frowns. "One."   
"Only."

"Chosen."   
"Picked."

"Slayer."  
Spike's eyes practically pop out of his skull. "I know that word!"

"What is it?" Cynthia asked, clearly on the edge of a breakthrough.

"It's a…title. Like, a job. There's only one. The…chosen…one!"

She gets up and assumes the same pattern of pacing that Spike had earlier.

"Watcher."  
"…Knowledge." Her eyebrows raise.

"Vampire."   
He stiffens. "Evil."

"…Master."   
"Leader." He know looks perplexed.

"I'm going to go out on a limb here and suggest 'Hellmouth'."   
"Sunny…no, that can't be right."

"Yes, yes it is!" she cries, rushing to him. She kneels on the floor before him and grasps him by his upper arms. "The Hellmouth is in Sunny_dale_! My God, you must have lived there. With - with Buffy!"

"I lived with Buffy?"

"Maybe not in the strictest sense, but that's where she worked, that's where she fought!"

"She's…she's a Slayer, isn't she."

Cynthia's exuberant expression becomes a little clouded. "The best."

"You know her?"

"Oh, no. We never met. Well, she never met me. That's - that's why my grave is out there. I was the Slayer before her. My death called her. She is my successor. And she's the best damn Slayer there's ever been."

"I don't think I understand."

"I don't expect you to. Why don't we give up the stroll down memory lane until tomorrow. I'm feeling kind of tired."

Spike looks her over and sees not only the weariness in her body, but in her spirit as well. She looks haunted, as if she's seen a ghost. Perhaps the ghost is her.

"All right. My brain's feeling a little raped right now anyway."

She laughs lightly, and he can't help but smile at the way she laughs so easily to his lame and somewhat rude joke. He gets the feeling that he never got to create laughter before. At least, not often.

****

He rolls over in his sleep and reaches for the woman who isn't there. But now she has a name.

"Buffy."

****

"Where are my clothes?"

"Excuse me?"

Spike walks into the kitchen wearing only the drawstring pants he found in the closet. Somehow, he knew he would never wear this.

"The clothes I came here in. Where are they?"

"Oh, you mean those ratty old jeans and that black shirt and that _an_cient leather jacket?" She shrugged. "I tossed them in a box. They should be around here somewhere."

"Can you be more specific?" he asks slowly, obviously becoming agitated. Cynthia notices this and gives him her full attention.

"Try the front closet." Spike turns on his heel and heads out of the room. She gets up and follows him. "What is it? What's wrong?"

"Nothing, I just…have a feeling."

"Wow, you're really getting good at describing these feelings of yours. I think our therapy session worked like a charm."

He glares at her as he yanks the accordion-style door open and begins to rummage for the box.

"Why the bleedin' hell do you have skis in here?"

She shrugs. "Makes me feel athletic."

As he continues to search for the box, he tosses things over his shoulder. A soccer ball, a Time magazine, one blue sock, 'Monopoly', a pair of broken sandals, one red sock, a die (which lands on 2), a baseball cap, three tennis balls (all in succession), a waffle maker, a Snoopy tie, the other blue sock, a King of Hearts ("_That's_ where that went!" Cynthia cries), and a pair of fuzzy pink bunny slippers.

"It's not in here," he says.

"Obviously. I mean, it would have been right on top, since you only got here two days ago."

Spike gives her the glare of death before getting to his feet and stalking into the living room.

"Hey, aren't you going to find my other red sock for me?" she yells after him. He slams the back door in answer.

She sighs at the mess he made and kicks everything back into the closet, including the now complete pair of blue socks. The die lands on 6.

The back door slams again and she hears Spike cursing up a storm. She giggles a little at his sudden change in persona - he's definitely going to keep her guessing. Cynthia saunters nonchalantly towards him, trying her best to look uninterested.

"How did you manage to lose the only things that I actually _own_?" he demands as he begins to search the house for his missing clothes. He opens every cupboard, every drawer, lifts every seat cushion, and looks under every table and chair. She watches all this from afar.

"Oh, Cynthia, you're doing a wonderful job holding up that wall for me," he snaps at her.

"God, why don't you save yourself the frustration, _Spike_, and use your brain for once."

He looks up sharply from underneath the table cloth. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

"Duh! Where do dirty clothes _usually_ go?" He frowns.

"The laundry?" She taps her nose.

Spike clenches his jaw and heads out the back door once more. Cynthia follows close behind him, not wanting to miss a moment of the entertainment. The box comes into view as they approach the water pump, and Spike curses himself as he picks up the pace.

When he gets there, he dumps the box onto the grass and begins combing through it. She watches him, puzzled.

"What are you doing?" she asks.

"When you said I didn't belong here, you said there must be a _reason_ I'm here."

"Yeah, I recall saying something along those lines." 

He grins triumphantly and pulls something sparkly from the heap of clothes.

"Might it have something to do with this?" He holds up a necklace by the clasp, and it twirls slightly, enough for it to give off little flashes of light as it moves.

Cynthia reaches out and he hands it to her. She holds it up to her face and squints, as if doing so will make it clearer in the already-broad daylight.

"Well, I'll be damned," she mutters.

****

__

To be continued…


	3. No is the Saddest Experience

****_A/N: Woohoo! I updated! Just for you, wolf116. Your review reminded me that I have another story on the go and prompted me to work on it. Lots of explanations and stuff, which you probably need, considering I just make the stuff up. Hehe. Anyway, sorry for the delay, I've been working on my other stuff - haven't had the inspiration for this one lately. But I think you'll be pleased with this one. ~Chelle~****_

"I'm dead?" he asked for the seventh time, though now it seemed as if he were trying to process the information rather than expecting Cynthia to confirm it. She smiled sympathetically at him.

"I knew you were dead the moment I saw you. You can't be in Limbo unless you're dead," she whispered. Spike could hear the sorrow in her voice, but he didn't much care about that.

"Why didn't you tell me?" he implored. She cast her eyes down, unable to look him in the eye. "I'm dead, and you didn't tell me."

"I'm sorry," she muttered. As her tears threatened to spill over, she pressed her palms against her eyes so he wouldn't see. But she couldn't hide the hitching of her shoulders.

"Ah, pet, I'm sorry," he said. He rose from the table and tenderly pulled the crying woman into his arms. "Shh, I didn't mean to make you cry. I'm not mad at you, I'm just…confused, I guess."

Cynthia sniffed loudly against his bare chest and he rubbed his hands in soothing circles on her back. "I'm not crying because you're mad at me, and I know you are, so don't deny it," she argued. He sighed, but didn't say anything, because, as always, she was right.

"You're a horrible liar, by the way," she muttered, and was rewarded with a chest-rumbling laugh. Cynthia looked up at him and gave Spike a weak smile.

"So, explain this to me one more time." She sighed and tucked her hair behind her ears before hopping up on the table.

"Okay, so this necklace you have was created by the original Watchers Council, these crazy African monk guys, thousands of years ago. It was to be worn by the Slayer's Champion in what was supposed to be the Final Battle with the forces of darkness. 

"The way I understand it, the Watchers wove a spell into the necklace that would draw out the wearer's soul and turn it's purity against the evil, effectively destroying everything impure, but also killing the host." Cynthia rubbed at her temples. 

"But what I _don't _understand is why, if you did indeed wear it, the First Evil's army wasn't destroyed. Because if it was, then theoretically I would be released from my duties here. I mean, without any evil threatening the world, there's no need for a Slayer, and if there are no Slayers, I won't be obligated to do the whole meet-and-greet. 

"Maybe something went wrong, and that's why you're here. Maybe it wasn't the Final Battle yet, but the necklace was given to you anyway. Or maybe there's something else we need to figure out."

Spike stared at her for a long time. He looked at her, really _looked_ at her, and realized she hadn't been telling him the whole truth. Aside from the part where she had known all along that he was dead.

__

It wasn't supposed to be this way…That's why my grave is out there. I was the Slayer before her…If there are no Slayers, I won't be obligated to do the whole meet-and-greet…

"What is it that you do here, exactly?" he asked her. She looked out the window at the setting sun, as if trying to decide something.

"I wait," she answered. "I wait for the day the Powers That Be tell me I've paid for my mistake and I can move on to the Higher Plain."

"What mistake?" he asked.

She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "When a Slayer dies, she comes here, to Limbo. Her job is to dig the grave of the next Slayer and wait here until her death so that she can teach them what to do.

"Rachel, the Slayer before me, she told me that when Buffy died, I would have to recite an incantation that would bind her to this plane and release me to the next. But…Buffy didn't stay dead. I had dug her grave, and her body appeared in it. I began the incantation and started to cover her body with dirt. I was doing everything right, but then…"

"Then what?" he asked.

"She disappeared. Somehow, she was brought back to life. And I was trapped here, having performed half the spell. She was bound to Limbo, sure, but she was no longer here to take my place. And I didn't have the chance to finish it, so I couldn't ascend. I should have waited, made sure she was truly dead… I was later contacted by a mouthpiece for the Powers. Whistler explained what went wrong, and that for my mistake, I'd be trapped here until they decided I could go. Until they decided I had truly repented.

"I was pretty angry, and more than a little upset. What did I do to deserve this, you know? I mean, it was bad enough when this strange woman showed up at my house and told me that I was the Slayer and turned my life upside down. And you can't help but blame the Slayer before you, because if they hadn't died, you wouldn't be called, right? So I was angry at Rachel. I didn't know her name back then, but I hated her anyway.

"I fought for three years before I got in a battle with a few too many vamps and my Slayer days ended. But that was okay, I was ready for it. I knew it was coming. What I _wasn't_ ready for was to be trapped in the middle of cosmic nowhere for seven years and counting. That was definitely _not_ in the brochure.

"So here I've been, doing nothing but play solitaire and tend my vegetable garden. Nothing here actually exists, so I suppose I don't even need to eat, but it keeps me sane.

"And then you showed up. At first I thought you were here to relieve me of my duties, but then I realized you were a guy, and Slayers are always girls, so that wasn't it. Then I realized that you were obviously part of something - you knew Buffy. So since you got here all I've had are questions, and no one to answer them."

She gave a little shrug, as if what she'd just told him wasn't a big deal. But it was. They were both dead, both trapped here in Limbo, and neither of them had a clue what had happened in Life. But there was something else that was bothering him.

"When I first woke up here, you called me William. How did you know my name?"

"Oh, that's easy!" she answered. "When I was alive, you were infamous. Lots of entries in the Watchers Journals about William the Bloody."

He frowned. "What do you mean?"

She looked at him quizzically. "From when you were the Scourge of Europe. You know, when you were all 'grrr!'" Cynthia made a scary face and crooked her fingers like claws.

"I still don't get it," he replied. Then all of a sudden she gasped and a look of complete shock crossed her face.

"Oh my gosh, I just assumed - I mean, I thought you knew…"

"Knew what?" he demanded, becoming visibly shaken and sounding more than a little irate.

"You're a vampire," she answered. His eyes went wide for a moment, and then he clutched his head in agony before falling to the ground. He was unconscious.

'He's gonna be pissed when he wakes up,' she thought to herself before hefting him over her shoulder and taking him to his room.

****

In his dream, he was at the beach with Buffy and Dawn. They were playing Frisbee in the water, splashing around and laughing. He could feel the hot sun on his skin and knew that his fair skin would be burnt in a few hours. But he didn't care; he was spending an afternoon with his girls.

Dawn bowed out, wanting to get an ice cream cone. She waded out of the water and left Spike and Buffy tossing the bright orange disc between them. Buffy grinned mischievously at him before racing towards him and jumping into his arms.

"Oof!" he said as he caught her. She wrapped her legs around his waist and kissed him soundly on the lips. He tingled where their skin touched, and he wanted to touch of all of her, memorize every curve of her body with his hands.

They fell in the water together and she giggled, a high-pitched trill that caused his heart to sing. "I love you," he whispered in her ear. She pushed his wet hair out of his eyes, his unruly curls made straight by the water.

"I love you more," Buffy murmured against his mouth as she stole another kiss.

'I must be dead,' Spike thought to himself, 'because I think I'm in Heaven.' Waves started rolling in from the ocean, rocking their bodies to and fro as they kissed and touched in the water. But soon the waves were too large and began crashing over their heads.

The lovers pulled away from each other and saw storm clouds rolling in unnaturally quickly. Spike pulled Buffy to her feet and began to lead her back to shore. But she pulled against him and tried to head back out to sea.

"What are you doing?" he asked her, but his question was lost over the howling of the wind and the crashing of the waves. She yanked her arm from his grasp and began walking towards the oncoming storm.

"Buffy, no!" he cried and lunged after her. Spike watched in horror as his hand passed right through Buffy's shoulder. She continued her death walk and there was nothing he could do to stop her.

The waves pulled at her body, and the clouds tore apart to reveal an evil so dark, so sinister, that even Buffy quailed at the sight. A flaming hand reached out of the sky and scooped her up. She began burning, but that didn't stop her from fighting.

Buffy kicked and punched and bit the hand, trying to get it to free her. Spike stood knee-deep in the water and cried; she'd never make it.

"Don't worry William, this isn't real." The voice came from beside him and he turned.

"Tara?" he asked. She smiled and nodded shyly. Then she touched his hand and the world disappeared.

He was back in the nothingness he had lived in before arriving in Limbo. But this time he was not alone. Tara was still holding his hand and he could feel magic pulsing from her palm to his. It traveled up his arm and as it did he became visible.

"How did you do that?" he asked, watching in awe as his legs and feet slowly appeared below him.

She gave a little Tara shrug. "Magic," she whispered. He nodded. He understood; not everything can be explained.

"What's going on?"

"The Powers sent me with a message for you," she replied. She waved her free hand and it left a trail of tiny sparkles in its wake that congealed into Technicolor images of a raging battle.

"This is the future - about three hundred years from now. It's the Final Battle between the First Evil and the Slayer and her Champion. As you can see, you're not present. It was not the time for the necklace, for Mi'iha's Strand; a group of people that have been trying to initiate the apocalypse tricked Angel into believing it was. Wolfram & Hart thought that by activating Mi'iha's Strand, they would move up the end of days. But they were wrong. All they did was ensure that another prophecy came to pass - the Shanshu.

"When a vampire achieves a certain level of repentance, they are given the gift of life and become human. However, the Shanshu was meant for Angel, and Buffy threw a wrench in the Powers' plans when she gave the Strand to you to wear, which caused you to sacrifice yourself to save the world, qualifying for Shanshu. You've been stuck in Limbo because the Powers can't decide what to do with you. 

"They could send you to Judgement, which is where normal people go after Life. However, you're not a normal person. Vampires usually go straight to Hell, but you are the only one to ever seek a soul. The Powers wanted to reward you somehow, but I believe they were thinking along the lines of freeing you from the emotional turmoil your soul has left you in."

Tara paused and tried to gauge his reaction. Confused, yes. Angry, probably. Perplexed, most definitely. But will he pass the test…

__

To be continued…


	4. It's a Number Divided by Two

_**A/N: Well, it's been a long, slow road from beginning to end, but I think it was worth it. This fic has been my baby since a disembodied Spike first popped into my head. I have to tell ya, I didn't think I'd ever finish it, but I did! :D Thank God!!! Anyway, here's the final chapter, I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it. P.S. - the die thing? Totally solved!! ;) ~Chelle~**_

  
**** 

"You've been stuck in Limbo because the Powers can't decide what to do with you. They could send you to Judgement, which is normally where people go after Life. However, you're not exactly a normal person. Vampires usually go straight to Hell, but you are the only one to have ever sought a soul. The Powers wanted to reward you somehow, but I believe they were thinking along the lines of freeing you from the emotional turmoil your soul has left you in."

Spike didn't know what to say. He didn't like being told what to do, _especially_ by the self-righteous Powers That Be. But he certainly didn't like the prospect of Hell either. There were definitely worse places to be stuck indefinitely - Limbo had been pretty good to him so far.

And now that he had his memories back he could talk to Cynthia and maybe they could figure out a way for her to be released…wait.

"They don't know how to repay me?" Spike asked. He glanced over at Tara, who was studying him intently. "Can I make a suggestion?"

"By all means," she nodded.

He lifted his hand and stared at it for a moment. How strange it was to see it, recognize it, know what it had done. The blood he'd spilt, the necks he'd snapped. The lives he'd destroyed.

"Let Cynthia go," he said finally. "She made a mistake, that's all. And it's Xander's fault anyhow, bringing Buffy back to life that first time. She's been in Limbo seven years - it's time for her to move on."

Tara met his eyes and saw everything she needed to know. Gently she eased them back into his dream and released his hand.

"But what about you?" she asked. "What should we do with you?"

Spike looked out onto the still water of his frozen dream, seeing Buffy clenched in the flaming hand, unmoving, trapped. Though her hair was lifted into the air, the wind was paused like everything else. Stop-motion theatre.

"I'll watch over Limbo. Bury the girls." He turned to her. "I killed two of them, loved a third. Shared a smoke with another. Knew one only in death. I know Slayers. It's the least I can do."

Tara smiled broadly at him and stepped forward. She cupped his face in both her hands and looked him straight in the eye. He stared back at her, unblinking, memorizing her face the way he wished he had done before she died.

"Tell Willow I will always love her," she whispered, unshed tears brightening her eyes.

He frowned. "What do you mean? I'm not gonna see -"

****

There was an incredible weight on his chest. He couldn't breathe, and though he didn't need to, it was distressing all the same. Panicking, he opened his eyes, but he could see nothing.

Spike thrashed his arms and hit something solid, metal. He grasped it and pushed. The sound of it bending screeched in his ears, echoing cacophonously. Dirt dislodged from somewhere above him and fell in his mouth and eyes.

He blinked through the falling debris and saw stone, cement, girders, and bodies. Lots of bodies.

'I'm in the Hellmouth', he realized.

Spike pulled himself out of the wreckage inch by agonizing inch, summoning up reserves of energy he didn't think existed. He was no longer wearing the Strand, he noticed, and remembered his meeting with Tara.

Had he done something wrong? Had he screwed it up somehow?

Finally on his own two feet, he took in his surroundings. The school basement was now a gaping crater, big enough for its own zip code. Through the jagged maw of the collapsed cavern he could see the sky - it was barely sundown, pink and purple along the horizon.

Carefully he picked his away across the battlefield, turning over bodies to see if they were anyone he knew. Had known.

He saw a mane of long brown hair and he cried out. _Not Dawn, please not Dawn!_ Roughly Spike turned the girl over and sighed with relief, and then in sorrow. It was Amanda. Not Dawn, no, but Amanda.

But Vi wasn't there. Nor Rona, nor Faith, nor Kennedy and Willow. He could only hope they had escaped safely.

Exhausted, he somehow managed to climb the rock face and hauled himself into what had once been the school's main hallway. Spike could still see lockers and fluorescent lighting among the rubble, but the entire structure had collapsed. He wandered over the uneven hills of rubble, stumbling, sliding, falling.

By the time he found Anya's body he was too tired to dig it out.

He left it and moved on.

****

Three hours later the moon was high in the sky and Spike was still trudging through the remains of Sunnydale. Normally, he could make it from one end of town to the other in the same amount of time, but the irregularity of the rubble made walking difficult and tiresome.

He was cold, hungry, tired, filthy, lonely, and - he reluctantly admitted - a little scared. He was worried about Cynthia. He was worried about Tara. He was worried his dream had been real. He was worried Limbo wasn't.

He was worried about Buffy and Dawn, about the new Slayers, about what was going to happen now. But his greatest worry was that he'd find the bus among the destruction, battered, burnt. He was afraid they too would be dead.

When the first drops of rain began to fall, Spike decided it was time to rest. He found an alcove of rock and hunkered down in it, pulling his leather duster tighter around himself.

As the rain became torrential and his body completely soaked and muddy, he gave up on consciousness and fell into a fitful sleep.

****

Buffy watched Cordelia's sleeping form. From the gentle rise and fall of her chest she knew the other girl was still alive. The coma was deep, she knew, but her old friend looked so utterly dead.

In the building around her, various people were moving about. Giles was making numerous phone calls to his colleagues in England, Fred was chattering away to Willow as they catalogued the weapons from Sunnydale, and Angel was ordering movers around, take this couch there, get rid of that coat stand. The new Slayers were trying to sleep through it, but most of them were wide awake, tossing and turning in their beds.

They'd arrived at the Hyperion just two days earlier after driving all day, with only a stop to deliver their wounded to Memorial Hospital. Angel had welcomed them to the hotel, though it was in a state of disarray from the devoted supporters of Grace.

Now that he'd acquired Wolfram & Hart, Angel had the money to restore the Hyperion to its original glory. The Scoobies and their extended family were to be its first occupants.

Though the constant babble in the building was keeping everyone else up, Buffy was awake for other reasons. Primarily, because sleep would not come.

She had tried on the bus, she had tried in her bed, she had tried after a warm bath - nothing. Nada. It didn't matter that she was exhausted beyond reason, sleep kept eluding her.

So now she sat with Cordelia, keeping her company. She read to her from various books she pulled off Angel's bookshelf. She told her about what she'd missed while she'd been living in LA. She had braided her short black hair, then un-braided it, then braided it again.

And that was just today.

Buffy liked being with Cordelia because she didn't ask any difficult questions, like 'Why did you leave him?' and 'Did you really mean what you said?' Cordy didn't remind her of Spike or Anya or any of the other dead they'd left behind. She was neutral. She was beige.

Laying her head against the back of the chair Buffy tried to push the painful memories aside. Practicing one of Willow's breathing techniques she began centring herself, regaining control. _Breathe in for three, hold for three, breathe out for three. In for three, hold for three, out for three. In, hold, out. In…out. In…_

For the first time in days, she fell asleep.

****

She is standing in the high school. One of the hallways, though she can't place which one. School is in session, but the building is quiet. Like death.

Buffy walks down the hall, her heels tapping out a patient rhythm on the tiles.

"This isn't right," she says. She continues walking.

Rounding a corner, a girl comes into view. She is standing in front of the office, staring through the glass at the desks and offices beyond. Her hand is pressed against it. Buffy doesn't know her.

"Can I help you?" Buffy asks. The girl jumps in surprise and looks at her, frightened. She squints, mutters something to herself, tucks her hair behind her ears.

"I'm looking for someone," the girl replies. Her voice is gentle, like silk, but she exudes a familiar confidence. She cocks her head, squints again. "Do I know you?" she asks.

"I don't think so," Buffy replies.

"You look real familiar," the girl insists, but Buffy shrugs.

"There's a lot of girls that look like me," she replies. "My name's Buffy, by the way."

The girl looks shocked, confused, and her mouth hangs open. Hesitantly, she extends a hand. "Cynthia," she whispers. "I'm Cynthia."

Buffy grasps her hand and smiles brightly.

****

Spike woke to a loud clap of thunder. It shook the ground and rattled his teeth. The rain had not let up. He groaned as he tried to shift positions.

"Bloody buggering Powers That Be!" he yelled into the open air. It didn't do him any good, but it made him feel marginally better.

Rolling over he closed his eyes and forced himself to rest. His body ached, his fingers and toes were numb, and he was hungry enough to start eating rats. If there had been any rats around, that is.

As he began to shiver he wondered what Cynthia was doing and if she was all right.

****

"Who are you looking for?" Buffy asks. Cynthia glances around the school.

"Spike."

"Spike?"

"Is he here?" she demands.

Buffy frowns. "He was. But he's gone now. I lost him."

"Are you dreaming?" Cynthia asks.

Slowly Buffy nods. "Yes. I'm dreaming. I haven't slept since I lost him. No wonder this dream is weird."

Cynthia shifts from foot to foot in agitation. "What the hell is going on here?" she asks herself.

"Why are you looking for him?" Buffy asks.

Cynthia sighs and rubs her face. "He disappeared. One minute I was dumping him on his bed, the next he was gone and I was here."

"You lost him too."

She looks hard at Buffy. "He's not gone."

Buffy doesn't reply, doesn't move.

"He's not gone. And if there's one thing I've learned from him, it's that there's a reason for everything."

She steps away from the office and glances down the hall. "Where did you last see him?"

"In the basement," Buffy replies, heading in that direction.

She opens the door and the two Slayers walk down the steps. They wander through the maze-like basement before coming to a large metal door.

"We were in here," Buffy whispers. She places her hand on the door, mimicking Cynthia's movement from before. "I left him. I couldn't stay any longer. He made me go."

She glances at the other girl. "But I wish he hadn't."

Cynthia reaches forward and pulls the door open. Both girls peer inside. They are assaulted by the sights and sounds of a raging battle. Spike is there, fighting the Turok-Han alone. He is one man against thousands.

"This isn't right," Buffy whispers. Cynthia takes her by the arm and leads her into the fray.

"This isn't how it happened?" she asks. Buffy shakes her head.

"We had won, but he was trapped. His soul was being torn from him, he was burning up, and he wouldn't come with me!" Buffy chokes back a sob. "He wanted to see the end."

"But it's not over," Cynthia replies.

"What?"

"The world didn't end, evil wasn't vanquished - it's not over."

Buffy watches as Spike spins and plunges and dodges and punches. He is liquid death. He is winning.

"He's a survivor," she whispers.

"Yes," Cynthia agrees. "He survived."

****

__

He survived.

Buffy jolted awake, falling off her chair. Sweat had plastered her hair to her forehead, her hands were clammy, her breathing erratic.

A Slayer dream.

__

He survived.

She rose shakily to her feet, stumbling across the room and out the door. Racing down the hallway she sped past her friends, her family. She practically leaped down the stairs in her panic and arrived dishevelled and wild at her Watcher's feet.

"We left him!" she cried out. Giles and Angel exchanged concerned glances.

"What are you talking about?" Giles asked.

Buffy shook her head in dismay. "He's not dead. We left him behind! We have to go back, Giles. We have to!"

"Who? Spike?" Angel took hold of her arms and made her look him in the eye.

"I had a Slayer dream," she whispered. "He survived."

"Are you quite sure it was a Slayer dream?" Giles asked. He had taken off his glasses and was practically cleaning a hole through them.

"I haven't slept in days, I thought it was just weird, but…there was someone there. Someone real. She told me he survived."

By now Willow, Xander, Faith and Dawn had been summoned by the witnesses to Buffy's slight breakdown. They gathered around the trio in the lobby and listened in.

"Angel, I have to go back. I have to make sure. You know I do. And I'll go alone if I have to, but -"

"I'll go," Faith said. Buffy turned and noticed her friends for the first time.

"Me too," Willow added and took one of Buffy's hands in her own.

"Really?" she asked. Willow squeezed her hand and Faith shrugged.

The witch began pushing the two Slayers out the door, Angel and Dawn close on their heels. 

"I'll drive," he insisted as Buffy reached for the key hook. "I don't want to take that bus of yours anywhere."

****

When Spike awoke once more it was to the sound of his name being spoken by a familiar voice. He blinked the sleep from his eyes and squinted into the dark.

"Spike?"

He rolled over quickly and grabbed her arms. "Cynthia?!"

She grinned at him and threw her arms around his body. He pressed her against his chest and cupped the back of her head, her drenched hair dripping down his collar.

"What happened?" he asked as she finally pulled away.

"You did it," she whispered, tears streaming down her face.

"What did I do?"

"You set me free."

He sighed in relief and hugged her to him again. "I wasn't sure if it worked! I was supposed to take your place, but next thing I knew I was back in Sunnydale."

She nodded. "You made a decision that proved to the Powers that your sacrifice wasn't just to save those you cared about, but was for the good of all and in repentance for your sins."

Spike raised his scarred eyebrow. "Really?"

"Yep. I got a visit from a girl named Tara and she explained the whole thing. Then she told me that I could go as long as I did one last thing."

"What was it?" he asked.

"Spike!"

He turned his head and saw flashlight beams bouncing across the rubble. It was Angel. Faith was a few metres further back, sweeping her light in a steady search pattern.

They called his name again.

"I brought her to you," Cynthia answered.

Another voice called his name and he felt something inside him warm.

Buffy.

"I have to go now," Cynthia told him. He turned his attention back to her and noticed that her form had begun to fade. "I want to give you something before I do."

She reached into her pocket and withdrew the die that he'd uncovered in her closet. With a wistful smile she placed it in his palm and closed his fist around it.

"Thank you," she said.

"You're welcome," he replied. And then she was gone.

"Spike! Are you here?"

He stood up, die clenched firmly in his hand. He felt strong again. Whole. He had survived.

"Over here!" he called out and climbed atop a large boulder.

About ten feet away, Buffy whipped around, flashlight focusing on his face just long enough to blind him before dropping it to the ground and screaming in shock and excitement. With Slayer speed she crossed the precarious distance between them and leapt into his arms.

The rain was still pouring down on them, but neither noticed or cared as her warm body wrapped around his, her wet hair still smelling of her shampoo. Her fingers ghosted his face as she stared at him in wonder.

He smiled. She laughed.

Her lips claimed his in a desperate declaration of life and love. Their hands frantically roamed each other's bodies, haunted by the loss they'd endured. Spike trailed a line of kisses down her neck, all the while she whispered to him how she had missed him, thought him dead, hadn't been sleeping, and that she loved him.

When she said those three words again he pulled back and stared into her eyes. The others had finally caught up, dancing their lights across the couple. He glanced at them, pausing on Dawn, remembering the body of Amanda and how afraid he'd been that it was his precious Nibblet.

Buffy held his face and turned it towards her once more. "I love you," she said, loud enough for everyone to hear. Then she kissed him again, gentle and undemanding.

Faith cleared her throat in mock disgust and Spike pulled away from Buffy sheepishly. He set her down on the ground but kept one arm firmly around her waist. Buffy smiled up at him, practically glowing.

"What do you have there?" Willow asked, pointing to his closed fist. Everyone watched as he opened his palm and revealed Cynthia's die. It was resting on one.

"A die?" Buffy questioned, leaning her head against his chest. Her heart was beating wildly - he could feel it through her chest. She was relaxed, cheerful, bright.

All at once it seemed to Spike that everything would be fine. Life would be perfect with her in his life. And he knew now that what Cynthia had given him was not this cube of plastic, but something much, much more important.

"No," he replied, placing a loving kiss across her brow. "I have The One."

_**The End**_

For updates on any of aphelant's other Buffy and Enterprise fic, poetry, or prose, please e-mail her at: aphelant@livejournal.com, subject heading 'Add Me'!


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